


Friday, 9 pm: Denial is a skill

by BummedYourFag



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (But Dean pretends there isn't), Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Castiel, What else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:02:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BummedYourFag/pseuds/BummedYourFag
Summary: Bela tosses Dean out - again. Dean could have gone to a motel, but he didn't, he went to Cas - again. Only this time, there's no alcohol for Dean.Also known as: The one where Dean could have backed out, but didn't.





	Friday, 9 pm: Denial is a skill

“How dare you!” she screams, her blonde hair fanning out around her as she turns. “How _dare_ you accuse me of that!”

Dean knew he should stop, he knew he’s gone too far (again), but he couldn’t. He should say he’s drunk too much or that he’s blacked out from anger, but the truth is that he knew what he’s saying and that he just didn’t _care_.

“Screw you, Bela,” he spits. “You know why.”

She stops, breathing hard and glaring at him, pointing her finger to the door.

“Out,” she snaps. “I’m not doing this tonight, Dean. Not again. Get out.”

He probably should plead with her, but instead he turns and storms to the door, slamming it shut behind him with everything he’s got. Before he knows it, he’s in the Impala, parked outside of Cas’ house. He sits there, staring straight ahead, for what seems like ages, before his phone beeps.

> _When you’re done seething, you can come in._

He snorts, climbing out of the car. This has happened before, many times before. He knows how loud the Impala can be, that Cas probably heard him ages ago. The April rain is icy against him. He doesn’t bother ringing the bell or knocking, just walks in and kicks off his shoes.

“Cas?” he calls.

“In here,” Cas replies from the living room. “Did she kick you out again?”

Dean walks into the cozy living room, where Cas is still in his work suit and tie despite it being nine on a Friday evening. He’s lost the jacket, unbuttoned the top button and loosened his tie, sitting comfortably on the sofa, nursing a beer. Zach must have kept him late at the office. Dean flops down next to him, not bothering to take off his jacket.

“She did,” he just about groans. “We got in a fight.”

Cas hums, sipping his beer, but he doesn’t turn from the TV, which is showing a close up of something that buzzes. Probably more bees then, Dean decides. Goddamn Cas and his goddamn bees. He closes his eyes, leaning back and sighing.

“Can I stay the night?” he asks.

“Of course,” Cas says. “What did you argue about?”

“I’d rather not go into it.”

Cas shifts next to him and the British guy on the TV stops talking.

"Dean,” Cas says, “Was it about her parents again?”

“No!” Dean says, opening his eyes and glaring. “Maybe. Okay, yes, but if Crowley could be less of a fucking shithead, we wouldn’t have this fucking problem.”

Cas sighs. “You’ve got to stop, Dean!”

“ _I’ve_ got to -” Dean starts heatedly, but then he pauses and takes a deliberate breath. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” Cas snaps, “but answer this, then: What are you going to do when you’re married?”

“Do?” Dean echoes dumbly.

Cas has turned towards him, jaw clenched. “When you’re married. Will you still show up here every two weeks? Because I can tell you, I can’t do that.”

Dean stares.

“Wow, Cas,” he says bitterly. “Tell it like it really is.”

“Oh, screw you, Dean. You know what I mean,” Cas says, putting his beer bottle on the sofa table.

Dean’s evening’s been shitty enough that he can’t, he just can’t anymore.

“No, no,” he says, twisting his face into a smile. “C’mon, Cas. Tell me.”

 Cas glares.

“Tell you what I think? Well, since you ask so _nicely_ ” he snaps. “You’ll stay here tonight, you’ll whine about Bela and Crowley, and tell me all about it. Then you’ll drink, probably too much, and you’ll weep into that pillow behind you, and in three days, Bela will be on the front porch, crying her eyes out because she _loves_ you. That’s what’ll happen, because that’s what happened the last six times. _Six times_ , Dean.”

Dean’s standing before he knows it, fists clenched at his sides. Cas stands too, slowly, staring so intensely at Dean he doesn’t really know what he was about to say.

“Answer this as well: Why do you come here? Why not take into a motel?”  
  
Dean swallows, carefully unclenching his fists before he steps towards the door.

“Yeah, good idea. Maybe I will. Fuck you, Cas.”

He makes it about five steps, when Cas’ hand clenches around his shoulder and it’s only Dean’s desperate wish to not hurt his best friend that means he turns without swinging a punch.

“Dean,” Cas says softly. “I’m only telling you because I care. I… of course you can stay.”

There’s a pause, and something charges the air but Dean has no fucking clue what it is. Cas is standing a little too close, as is he often does, but this time, Dean can’t make himself remind Cas of personal space. Cas gazes unwaveringly at him, before tilting his head, a question in his eyes, and Dean is _absolutely sure_ he doesn’t know what it means, but he swallows and apparently that means Cas can move again, because now there’s a strong hand cupping his jaw.

“I … care,” Cas says again.

They’re staring at each other as Cas brings up his other hand as well, stroking Dean’s jaw. Then one hand is on Dean’s neck and Cas is closing the distance and holy shit, Cas’ lips are dry but warm and they feel so, so good. He doesn’t really know why - or well, he pretends he doesn’t, because Bela is back at home with that giant fucking rock on her finger - but his hands are on Cas’ back and he’s pulling his best friend closer, closer, closer. He’s kissing back, slowly at first, then harder, fiercer, pouring his anger into something else that can be transmitted by kisses.

Cas’ hands scrabble against his neck, paw against his chest, roaming, restless, and then he breaks away, breathing hard, looking Dean into the eyes for half a second before they’re kissing again. Dean scrambles, his hands now on Cas’ butt pulling Cas upward, closer still, licking into his mouth and taking, taking. When his hands manage to release Cas’ ass (and if Dean was more conscious, he’d totally make a joke about it, but he’s not because it’s a damn fine ass that stole all his braincells), he finds Cas’ tie, and he starts undoing it. Cas pulls away, only far enough to murmur against his lips.

“Dean…”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, trying to not nip back in.

“Yeah?” Cas asks.

Dean nods.

Then Cas pushes him away and for a second Dean thinks that’s it, but then Cas’ hand is in his and they’re walking to the bedroom. Except Cas’ bedroom is upstairs and there’s a wall next to the staircase that’s apparently too tempting to Cas, because he’s shoving Dean back against it, pushing his shoulders and kissing like a madman, while his hands loop in Dean’s belt hoops, pulling his hips out, sliding back and squeezing Dean’s ass. Dean’s hips roll forward and Cas’ roll down and there’s _friction_ , which Dean decides is a fucking awesome thing. Cas growls against his neck.

“Do - you - have - any - idea -” he pants between kisses and bites, and Dean’s head’s swimming with the feeling.

“Later,” he gasps, “Later, Cas.”

His hands work suddenly and he’s pulling Cas’ shirt out of his slacks to try to get more skin against his own, and then Cas growls again, but this time it’s a frustrated noise, and he’s shoving Dean up the stairs. Dean goes willingly, scrambling up the stairs, Cas right behind him. They kiss again on the landing, and Dean manages to untuck Cas’ shirt the rest of the way.

Thankfully, oh, mercifully, the bedroom is right next to the stairs, which is good because Cas seems so fond of shoving now, and he’s backing Dean into the room, shoving him onto the bed. There, he pauses in the middle of climbing on top of Dean, one knee on the mattress between Dean’s splayed legs, one hand next to Dean’s shoulder.

“Sure?” he whispers, eyes searching for something in Dean’s again.

Dean groans, reaching up for the stupid tie and yanking Cas down towards him. Their teeth click, but that’s okay, that’s just fine, because they’re kissing again and Cas does that thing where he bites Dean’s lower lip and then drags his teeth over Dean’s jaw and Dean’s sure if he had some objection before, he sure as hell doesn’t now. Now that he knows how Cas kisses, now that he knows the heat of Cas’ breath against his own. He’s so, so utterly _screwed_ and he doesn’t care one whit. He throws the tie somewhere (anywhere but on Cas is okay), yanking at the buttons on Cas shirt, while Cas slips his hands in below Dean’s t-shirt and Dean shudders.

“Shh,” Cas murmurs, “slow down.”

Dean pushes the shirt off of Cas, and when he finds an undershirt he slumps back, pressing his head back into the mattress and drawing deep breaths. Cas hands slow down, smoothing over Dean’s stomach. They’re big and dry and warm and Dean closes his eyes. There’s a soft kiss on his forehead and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat. Cas is so gentle now, kneeling over one of Dean’s thighs.

They kiss slowly and then Dean shifts so Cas can pull the t-shirt off him. The covers are rumpled below him when he falls back onto the bed, Cas tracing invisible patterns over his ribs, his stomach, stroking one hip. Dean should move, should do something, but Cas touch and kisses are so gentle that he thinks he’ll break if he does, so he lies there. Cas cradles his face in his hands, kisses his forehead again, trails light kisses over his eyelids and nose, stroking gently along his cheekbones.

His cock throbs and his jeans are absolutely killing him, but he stays still, feeling Cas mouth along his jaw, nibble carefully at his ear, kissing his neck and biting small, light bites along it. Cas’ hands move lower, thumbs petting over Dean’s nipples, and that’s when he notices he’s panting. Small, tiny, breaths, aborted whimpers. He arches up slightly to meet Cas fingers, and feels him smiling against his neck. The movement makes Cas shift, and Dean shifts and there’s a thigh just barely pressing against his cock. That makes him actually whimper and he has to stop himself from bucking up like a teenager.

Cas presses kisses against Dean’s chest, when Dean remembers he has hands. That undershirt is so much in the way, he needs more of Cas’ skin, so he slides his hands back in below it (when did they end up fisted in the covers?). The feel of Cas’ back under his palms is hot and he needs more. He pulls Cas’ head up from where he’s been kissing Dean’s chest, and kisses him deeply, tugging at the undershirt.

Cas huffs a little against his lips. “Impatient,” he murmurs, but he slides off the undershirt all the same.

Dean was right. It’s much, much better when Cas is half-naked as well, Cas chest pushing against him, hard and hot above him, pressing him into the sheets. He kisses Cas until he absolutely has to draw breath and then he gasps, because Cas moves to lick at Dean’s nipples and the small licks are so light, so light, so warm and wet and it’s never done anything for him, but it’s _Cas_ and that’s sending jolts down to his cock. He’ll figure out a way to justify whimpering later, but for now his mind is all instinct, chanting _close close more Cas more please_.

When Cas gently bites at his nipple, Dean groans and he could swear he gets even harder, though he’s not sure how that’s possible. He’s pushing up against Cas, arching and whining as Cas tugs a little on his nipple and it really shouldn’t feel this good, it really shouldn’t, but shit, it does. Peppering his chest and stomach with small kisses, Cas tongues at his navel, making Dean gasp and whimper even more. His hands are fisted in the sheets again, and this time, he just gives in. Cas is hot and heavy above him and he doesn’t need to think, doesn’t need to act. He struggles to keep his hips still as Cas drags his lips even lower, nipping at the skin just above Dean’s belt buckle.

He fails when Cas moves away, hips jerking upward to urge Cas on, but then Cas rolls down on his side next to Dean and that’s okay, that’s really okay, because they’re kissing again and there are fingers undoing Dean’s belt, pushing it open, and then there’s a - _shit shit shit shit shit_. There’s a hand, one of those glorious big hands, palming over his cock over his boxers. Dean’s pretty sure he stops breathing for a second or two, before he keens.

“Please,” he gasps, “Cas.”

He’s not sure what he’s asking for, he’s not sure why he’s pleading of all things, he’s not sure where his goddamn dignity went, but oh fuck, apparently that’s gone as well. Cas hand wraps around his cock, through the boxer shorts, rubbing and stroking and Dean’s practically shaking from trying to stay still. He does lift his hips when Cas slides his jeans off and then he yanks at Cas’ belt, pushing Cas’ slacks down around his knees. Cas kicks them off, and then it’s just boxers separating them as Cas rolls on top of Dean again. He kneels over Dean’s hips, goes down on his elbows, pressing their chests together as he sucks a mark behind Dean ear.

Dean closes his eyes, clutching at Cas’ shoulders, raking one hand over his face and trying to muffle his gasps. Then Cas pulls back again, sitting down over Dean’s hips and rocking their cocks together, which, okay, no, Dean just can’t be quiet through that.

“Yes, yes,” he chants, staring up at Cas. “More.”

“Soon,” Cas promises, going back to mouth at Dean’s neck, then lower and lower and that fucking tongue in Dean’s navel that makes his blood light on fire and those large hands on his hips and, oh God. Cas presses his face onto Dean’s cock through his boxers. It’s almost enough, but it’s not nearly enough at the same times and Dean feels so helpless. Cas is breathing hot air against his cock, nudging and touching through the cotton, mouthing against Dean’s balls and Dean wants to look, wants to see, but craning his neck and watching makes his blood boil so hard he has to slump down and close his eyes again.

Fingers tease at the edge of Dean’s underwear and he looks down, seeing Cas looking up at him. When Dean manages a nod, Cas pulls the boxers off him and his breath is even hotter, even damper against the skin of Dean’s cock. Dean bites his own hand, trying to maintain any control over himself, because he’s not supposed to be this wrecked when in bed with his best friend. He definitely ignores the part where he actually has an idea about what he’s supposed to be like in bed with his best friend. Dry lips trace over the underside of his cock, teasing, nipping and then there’s those small, wet licks against his frenulum. He’s whimpering loudly now, biting his hand hard, but Cas hand taps him on his elbow and Dean releases his hand from his mouth against his will, tangling his fingers with Cas’.

There’s a wet kiss to the tip of his cock and then Cas blows on him, but before he has a chance to do more than choke on a breath, Cas nose is against his pubic hair and it’s hot hot wet. He does buck then, jerking involuntarily upward, and Cas chokes, pulling off slightly. Dean tries to smile apologetically, reaching down to pet both hands through Cas’ hair. That’s actually a good idea, he keeps them there, stroking Cas jaw, burying them in his hair.

Cas doesn’t tease after that, he’s sucking and licking and Dean holds on, clenching his jaw and arching his back, until Cas comes up for air and Dean tugs his hair, because he just realised Cas is still wearing his boxers and those definitely need to come off _now_. He wriggles his hand in between them, pushes his palm against Cas cock as they kiss, drawing out a long groan that makes Cas head drop onto his shoulder. It’s easy after that, rolling Cas onto his back, making short work of the offending clothing. He has no clue when their socks disappeared, but it’s just as well because tube socks will never ever become any kind of sexy and Cas is…

“Jesus,” he breathes, looking down at Cas stretched out below him.

Cas is solid, all angles and hard muscle and hot skin. His cock stands slightly shorter, but fatter than Dean’s own, and Dean traces his fingertips over it. Someday, someday soon, he’ll tease and play but for now he just dips down. It’s been so long since he did this, he’s forgotten the heady smell of cock and precome, and there’s new notes, a smell that’s entirely _Cas_. He’s licking long strips along the underside of Cas cock. Cas is apparently far smarter than Dean, because he reaches over and grabs a pillow to shove under his head, so he can watch. When Cas cock is appropriately wet and Dean’s thoroughly cleaned off the precome at the tip, he looks straight into Cas’ eyes and takes him into his mouth, sinking slowly down. He’s nearly forgotten how, so he bobs slightly, getting used to the feeling again, and then he’s nosing at Cas’ pubes. The weight of Cas’ cock on his tongue is such a filthy pleasure that he groans, causing Cas to close his eyes and whimper. That’s a good sound. Dean would really like to hear it again, so he pulls back and nips with his lips at Cas frenulum before going further down and laving at Cas’ balls, sucking them into his mouth one by one, before returning to his cock.

Cas hands find his hair, holding him still and he’s happy to open up as Cas slowly, carefully, fucks himself into Dean’s mouth. He’s remembering now and it’s easy to open up. His chin is wet and he knows he must look so wrecked as he looks back up at Cas, who hisses and pulls Dean off, his other hand going to squeeze the base of his cock.

“Dean,” Cas breathes a moment later. “Fuck, Dean.”

Dean smirks, coming up to kiss Cas again. Cas crushes their mouths together, the hand on Dean’s head pulling him close, and when they separate this time they lie panting next to each other for a while. It’s enough time to make Dean decide and he looks around, before meeting Cas’ gaze again. He coughs.

“Uh,” he tries, “do you…?”

“I usually top,” Cas says, “but I’m not against bottoming.”

Dean has to draw another breath at the image in his head, but he shakes his head, almost regretfully.

“Next time,” he promises, swallowing. “I’d.. uh, I’d…If you’d...”

Cas’ eyes go wide. He cradles Dean’s face again, kissing him like he’s valuable, cherished - loved. He doesn’t know what to do with that idea and shoves it into the back of his mind. Cas rolls them over, kneeling above Dean again, before reaching to his nightstand and pulling out lube and a condom.

“You sure?” he murmurs against Dean’s neck. “I could ride you.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry and he has to close his eyes for a second, but he shakes his head again and wiggles. Cas lifts up a little, and Dean turns over on his stomach, spreading his legs a little.

“Please,” he whispers, almost hoping Cas can’t hear him, “please.”

Cas kisses his neck, stroking his sides slowly, almost reverently. Then the cap of the lube bottle clicks open, and slick fingers slide slowly between his cheeks. It’s been so long, it’s been so very, very long, and Dean forces himself to go limp. When Cas finger breaches him, his breath stutters again. His skin prickles, like goosebumps rushing all over, as that finger gently and slowly prods in and out of him. Soon, it’s joined by another, and the stretching is delicious. He groans, spreading his thighs further apart and rocking back at them. Cas twists and scissors slowly. He’s not looking to drag it out, there’s no teasing in his movements, but he’s being careful, as though he’s expecting Dean to tell him off.

“More,” Dean groans, “Please, Cas, more, so good, it’s so good.”

Another finger joins the first two and Cas crooks them slightly, searching before - Dean keens when Cas’ fingers hit his prostate, pleasure jolting through him. He pushes back hard, fucking himself wantonly on Cas fingers, wanting that feeling again, and again, and -  

“Yes, yes, Cas, please, it’s okay, you now.”

When the fingers disappear, he regrets asking, if only for little while, listening to a condom packet being opened and the click of the lube cap and then Cas is pushing his legs together, kneeling over his hips, his thick cock sliding between. Cas pushes in slowly, gently rocking back and forth as he goes deeper, and that hot feeling crawls over Dean’s skin again when he feels the stretch. He wants to arch up, to fuck himself back on Cas, but he’s pinned below Cas’ hips and that probably shouldn’t feel as good as it does. He puts his forehead against his arms and whimpers loudly when Cas leans down and kisses his neck.

“More, move,” Dean urges, “Please, please, please.”

Cas hands are on his shoulder blades, pushing him into the mattress and he’s moving, slowly at first but then harder and harder and deeper, and Dean’s cock’s trapped against the sheets. The mattress is too soft, the sheets only giving enough friction to drive him mad. He tries to buck up against Cas, tries so hard to cant his hips and be able to rub down and meet Cas’ strokes, but he can’t. Cas hands dig into his back, making it hard to breathe, his weight keeping Dean still against the mattress. Dean’s moaning, he’s whimpering and somewhere he’s aware of words from his lips.

“Yes, yes, please, God, Cas, please, more…”

When Cas cock slams into his prostate he all but wails, and Cas does it again and again until his movements stutter and stall and Dean clenches around him as hard as he can, and then Cas is coming, nails digging into Dean’s shoulders as he fucks Dean through his orgasm. Cas slumps over him for a second, panting and Dean stays still, enjoying Cas weight on him, before suddenly Cas is gone and there’s a hand on Dean’s hip and then he’s rolled and his cock is in Cas throat and Jesus fuck fuck fuck -

When he comes to properly again, Cas is sitting back up, wiping a hand over his mouth. He grins at Dean.

“Hold on,” he says, and Dean nods weakly.

Cas disappears and returns with a damp cloth and a glass of water. Dean mops up the come from his cock and the lube from his ass, before sipping the water and falling down onto Cas’ pillow. Cas comes up next to him, lying down.

“Mmmpff,” Dean murmurs into his pillow. “‘S good.”

Cas’ huffs. “That it was.”

Dean reaches for him, tucking himself up against Cas side. Cas’ all careful, and slightly tense and that’s not good.

“Dean,” Cas says carefully. “We should talk.”

“No,” Dean mutters, tightening his grip. “T’morrow.”

“I’m just -” Cas starts and then he seems to hold his breath as Dean rolls away, getting out of bed. He flicks off the light and plods back to bed, where he falls down and buries his nose against Cas’ neck.

“Tomorrow,” he says with finality. “I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had a *really* long and frustrating week, and apparently this is how I dealt with that. 
> 
> Okay then. Um. That's new.


End file.
